In Love and War
by Renflower21
Summary: He's on the side of the Confederate, she's disguised as a man in the Union. What will happen when these two childhood friends meet again, and what'll become of them as they get caught up in a mess of love and war? Can their romance survive? PeinxKonan, AU
1. A young boy

**A/N: My first attempt at a chaptered story, and an AU one. What happens when social studies class gets boring...please comment!**

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_Bang, Bang!_

The forceful pull back sent him sprawling, the boy's small body was forced backwards, unprepared for it completely. The rifle, however, so long and dark, with shiny iron that dazzled in the dim light, didn't escape his grip for a second. The young boy held it upright with tiny balled fists, his knuckles whitening. One finger was still held on the cold trigger.

"Pein…Pein! Dear child, are you alright?" A worred female voice called from across the grassy field, devoid of creatures, as they'd all scurried away at the loud noise. The small boy's tightly shut eyes shot open, vision adjusting as he turned towards his mother. She was a middle-aged woman, the type that always looks older than their true age due to years of poverty and hard work. She had small creases around her eyes and mouth, worn from time and stress. She wore a long dress of faded grey, handmade with fine stitches and beautifully made for such cheap material, durable throughout the long time, billowing gently in the soft breeze as it passed. But even the dress, which despite her fine hands and craftsmanship, could easily been described as misshapen, could not hide her slender form. Her hips were well formed, with a thin and slim waist, and an endowed chest that proved once more her former beauty. Black hair was strewn up into a messy bun, strands falling in front of her ebony eyes, set with an almond-shape upon her pale demeanor, very few blotches staining it.

They lived in a small house, mad of whatever wood that Pein's father could aquire. The small boy liked to place his tiny and pale hands on the rough, cold logs that his father had put so many hours into shaping and sawing to build a shelter for his family. And it helped, the small connection that was felt by this, for his father had died long ago.

The boy had little memory of the man who'd fathered him, only that he was a tall and well built man, with a mess of orange hair. It was odd, but the one thing that flashed brightly in his young memory was the dazzle of the glimmering earrings that he wore on pale ears. His mother so often begged in her frustrated tone to sell them and grow up, but he'd refuse with a charming laugh, claiming they were passed down from his great-great grandfather, who'd fought in the Battle of New Orleans, causing the woman he'd married to shake her head with a sigh.

Pein had seen what he shouldn't have, after the perish of his father to the horror of pneumonia. In a small box in his mothers room, which smelled so sweet like her, he'd found his fathers old earrings. He'd thought that she'd sold them for sure, but she hadn't. He'd also heard her crying at night, letting out despondent sobs that echoed through the craftily handmade walls.

His mother was so strong though, keeping their small family of two together. She sewed so often, day in and day out, trying so hard to raise sufficient funds for them both. He loved her with the unconditional love of a child, uncaring to the taunts of 'Momma's boy' from the other kids his age. He stayed by her side as much as he could, the only person who brought a smile to his face.

Well, that wasn't completely true, for he'd had one other friend. A sweet girl from school named Konan. She had sparkling eyes and beautiful blue eyes that spilled over her slender shoulders gently. He remembered that beautiful origami flower that she'd worn in her hair all the time, and she'd attempted to teach him as well. Unsuccessfully though. Dreams, hopes, they'd talked of everything, but she'd moved not too long ago, much to his sorrow, leaving him with but one real person who cared for him.

The crisp smell of gunpowder wafted into Pein's nostrils, and he stood up on shaky legs. His wide eyes gazed down to the musket, amazed by the sheer strength of the object. He'd always had a fascination with it, the weapon that sat in the family room gathering dust. But only a few times before had he had the courage to try and shoot it, working on his sharpshooting skills. He wasn't good, but still had a bit of an advanced edge in comparison to the other boys his age. And he was really getting a feel for it, something that vexed his mother to no end. He looked over to her then and gave her a silent nod of reassurance, hoping for relief, but knowing that wasn't what was coming.

"Darling, you know I hate you touching that thing." His mother stated tiredly, a deep frown set on the face that must have once been so very beautiful. Pein dropped the musket immediately as he heard the concern that troubled her sturdy voice. He turned a sheepish glance to her, for he knew this all to well.

"I'm sorry Mama." He said apologetically in his small voice. The smokey smell cleared, and the boy rose a small fist to his hypnotic eye, rubbing it as a bit of dust entered and troubled him. He'd never admit it to his worried mother, but he absolutely loved the crisp smell of gunpowder, the sheer force as the bullet rang out.

His mother turned her hardened gaze away, muttering wildly under her breath with annoyance and, he detected keenly, nervousness.

"Don't worry, Mama. I was only trying to help." He told her with wide, naïve eyes.

"Help? How? By shooting yourself? Or perhaps by scaring me half to death?" Her stern voice came, a hint of southern drawl. "Please, child."

"There was a rabbit…" He muttered in feeble explanation, not that it was rare or non-understandable for a boy's instincts to bring home bacon to kick in. His mother, like so many others, was the kind that mastered the ability to bring her son guilt with one look of disappointment.

"Why don't you go get us some water from the creek, boy?" She said at last, breaking the awfully uncomfortable silence that weighed heavily between the two. Pein, being the obedient child he was, nodded solemnly and began to drudge away. The gun was still held in his hand, trailing along the ground behind him and causing a slight line of removed earth to appear behind him.

"What do you think you're doing?" His mother asked with a raised eyebrow, amusement in her voice as she eyed the rifle.

"Going to the river…" He replied evasively.

"With that? I don't think so."

"Aw, c'mon Mama!"

"Child, I said no." Her tone turned stern now.

"I just wanna take it for a bit…" Whining entered his voice.

"Fine. But be careful, darling."

"Thank you!"

"I love you, baby."

Pein skipped off happily with this acceptance, musket trailing on the ground still. He glanced back at his mother and gave her another wave before turning away for the last time and continuing along the grassy field of green to the creek. A bit of a way away it was, and he had to cross through some light woods to arrive there. He gazed around, distracted by all the wildlife around him. The smell wafted of animal and beautiful flowers, the tinge of gunpowder from the older hunters still remained in the air if you sniffed hard enough. The smell of sap as well entered his nose, the familiar combination that of his favorite scent.

Soon he arrived at the muddy banks of the Pottawatomie river, the bucket from the house in the hand that did not clutch the musket. The quick sloshing sound of the roaring river carried throughout, and he bent over and filled the pail with the muddled dark blue water, watching the fish swim away in glee. Hesitating, he placed down the pail and the musket carelessly, and then walked along the side of the stream, gazing down at his reflection at the fish. He sloshed a hand through the water and watched in childlike fascination as they again broke their school up and swam in all different directions, a small giggle escaping his lips as he was absorbed by the fascination of this simple stream.

It was a long time afterwards that he grabbed the rusted metal bucket, the wire handle gripped tightly in his hand, the musket in the other again, dragging the heavy weapon on the ground as not to tire out his arm, still weak like a child of his age's tended to be, before the muscles really strengthened. He looked up at the sky, and realized with a sharp pang of guilt that his mother would be worried, for it was quite late now. Way past his bedtime. His eyes steadily adjusted to the new dark lighting as he rushed through the woods, a horrible feeling in his gut as he made his way to the house. Twigs and leaves snapped under his crudely made shoes, bushes russeling as tried to get home as fast as possible, while still keeping the water in the pail from spilling onto the ground.

Soon, the house came into view, and he felt a sigh of relief escape his lips, until the scream ripped through the calm night, and the bucket fell from his hands with a loud clatter as water stained the earth and mixed with crimson blood.


	2. First Taste of Death

A quick shriek pierced the night, before dying down to a sickening gurgle. Pein forced himself to intake a shaky breath that supplied oxygen to his accelerating heart. He felt the nauseating smell of death wash over him, overtaking his small and inexperienced body. The young boy collapsed to his knees, feeling sick, a small bit of sour bile escaping from his mouth and staining the wet ground, which he knew wasn't moist from dew. After he stood up on trembling legs, he forced his wide eyes open to look at the ground around him.

His mother was dead. That was the first thought that raced through his mind again and again, growing louder and louder, as the beautifully sparkling light from the moon shone down on the scene. Her gorgeous body lay limp on the ground, pale white skin from the loss of blood. Stabs and cuts were blatantly obvious on her now free black hair, drenched in crimson to saturation. Her mouth rest agape, her lips a blue grey that was almost inhuman, a steady stream of blood flooding from it. Her eyes, formally so sparkling and animated, gazed lifelessly upon the sky above.

Tears fell from Pein's narrowed eyes, the innocence in them lost forever. Rage and grief blinded him as he turned his angry gaze to the fleeing man, footprints crunching on the dry grass echoing in the ominously quiet night.

"You. You did this." He squeaked in his childish voice, shaking almost to the point that it was unintelligible. Certainly not a voice that would be taken as a threat of any kind. The man turned to face him, stopping dead in his quick tracks. He had fair skin, which glowed in the moonlight, covered by black clothing stained with red splashes. Blonde, whispy hair, reaching the base of his scrawny neck, blew in the slight cold breeze. Sharp, stunning blue eyes peered at him, uncaring. A glint of silver caught Pein's eye, and he made out the knife, long and sharp, gripped in his hand. The small boy reached down, slowly bringing up the musket that'd fallen forgotten on the ground. It shook wildly in his hands. The man stayed still as he saw this, his gaze steady and cold, no life behind the icy blue eyes.

Pein shut his eyes tightly, feeling the cool trigger under his finger. He took in one huge breath loudly, tears flowing down his pale face, and squeezed, aiming blindly. The force of it threw him back onto the ground, the loud crack almost deafening for his sensitive ears as it rung loudly. He slowly got off the ground, coughing loudly and roughly as his throat felt raw and rough, breathing heavily and loudly as the reality shook him again and again. He looked up, the gun dropping to the ground, and gazed in shock at what he'd done.

The man lay sprawled on the ground, and Pein slowly approached, gazing down in horror at what he'd done to him. There was a bullet hold right on the guys head. Somehow, he'd managed to aim perfectly despite the rage and fright, it had been as if suddenly he was completely focused, as if he were gazing through a sight or something, deadly accuracy overcoming him even with the pathetic rifle and it's low level of accuracy. Blood wasn't the only stomach-churning thing that was splattered across the ground. Grey disgusting matter was as well, and Pein knew even at that young age that it was brain matter. He staggered over to a nearby tree, his pale face turning a green tint as he felt the squish beneath his ratty shoes and seep through to his feet, putting a hand on the brittle and rough bark as he leaned down and vomited, his whole world seeming to be spinning around him as the hideous sight lay spread before him. It was one of such mind-numbing intensity that even an adult would have trouble handling it. He staggered away and looked around at the scene of death around him before abruptly passing out onto the wet ground, his head throbbing for the second before it all numbed and went black.


	3. Turning Point

**A/N: Going well...but I'd love more comments! Next time there'll be a lot more Konan.**

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"Why?"

It was the first word he'd uttered in nearly a week (or, more accurately, croaked). Tsunade was so surprised, she nearly let the wet and shiny dish that she held slip from her painted hands. Loud noises were all around the room from the other young children, a mix of yells, giggles, and sobs, the running water just adding to it. She turned off the sink water with a rusty creak, drying her dripping hands on the ratty apron she wore after placing the dish on a black rag.

Her blonde hair was up in it's ponytail, stray locks of golden yellow hair falling upon her stressed-looking face. She had a dot on her forehead, between two harsh eyes. Her full lips were set in a stern frown, which seemed to be permanently there. Her face was dirty from the chores that inevitably came with caring for the children of the orphanage. A ratty dress was adorned over her exotic figure and large chest, grey with a white apron. She'd worked there for so many unpleasant years, but never had she met a boy like this. Pein, they'd said his name was. She brought a hand absently to finger her necklace as she gave him a quizzical look.

"Why what, dear?" She questioned in a carefully soft voice. The people who'd dumped him there hadn't told her much, other than how they'd found him, and it brought an unusual type of fear to her to know that he'd been found by a gun under those circumstances. She'd seen what was in his eyes. She had no doubt he could have killed that man.

"My mother…why'd they kill her?" Pein asked, such a steady voice for what he was asking.

"They're saying that John Brown organized it, the massacre. Child, I don't know how to tell you this, but I will. Your mom was killed for being pro-slavery, as was your dad, who was quite outspoken about it." She explained quietly. Pein stood in the shadows of the room, his hands clutching a small black knapsack. No one knew what he kept in it, no one could pry it away from him.

"So they killed her for it?" He asked, his voice shaking now, but in anger rather than shock or grief, as it should have for any other child. Tsunade hesitated, but gave a small nod.

"Yes, they did." She told him in as gentle a voice as he could manage in this situation.

"I'll kill them for this! I'll kill them all! I'll find them, every damned one, those northern murders, and kill them!" He exclaimed, red coloring his normally pale face. It was quite frightening, the merciless fury, something no child should even experience, let alone show. The older woman's face paled, and she took a step forward, abruptly smacking him upside the head. He hazel eyes showed a rare sign of fear.

"Shut your mouth, child." She hissed in a low voice. Their gazes met in a heated challenge before he finally broke his gaze away. There were a few more moments of heavy silence, deafening in a tense way, before she turned her head.

"Jiraiya, get the hell out here!" Tsunade barked, voice rough and frustrated, indicating wary repetition of this phrase time and time again. She shot one more annoyed and stern glare at Pein before looking impatiently towards the wooden doorway. Pein stood there silently, fuming in a way that wasn't expressed on his face. He hated it there, at the orphanage. The air was always so damp and humid, and yet it was freezing as well. The beds were quite dirty and uncomfortable, and he hated all the other kids. They teased him for crying and never talking. Truth was, he was still recovering from the shock.

Finally, a large, white-haired man entered the room, rubbing his head some, in the other hand, a bottle of cheap beer. The only kind that workers there could afford. He looked at Tsunade tiredly, leaning in the doorway, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" He asked simply, as if it were such a burden to come to her when she called, interrupting his drinking. Tsunade only shot the white haired man an irritated glance.

"Take this boy out and do something with him, I don't care what!" She growled, marching angrily out of the room. Pein rose an eyebrow as he noticed the jowly man's gaze go to her ass, which was quite outlined in the ill-fitting dress. Pein was too young to know what this meant, but gave a slight roll of his eyes anyways.

"Damned woman. What do you want me to do?" Jiraiya said tiredly to the young boy presented before him. Pein glanced away, hesitating before bringing his gaze, the one that frightened most of the adults so, to his.

"Do you have a musket? I'd like to learn how to shoot." He said quietly. And Jiraiya, in an answer that would forever change the young boy's future forever gave a simple reply.

"Yes, I'll teach you how."


	4. Off To War

**A/N: I lied…sorry, I'm saving our favorite blue-haired angel for next chapter. **

**Oh, and PLEASE review! I absolutely LOVE getting reviews…or else I feel like it wasn't good enough to deserve one. ****TTTT**

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"War? Jiraiya…Jiraiya get in here!" Tsunade barked, her voice quivering slightly and betraying the worry that lay beneath the harsh annoyance that tainted her usual rough voice. She sat, her long blonde hair falling over her toughly set shoulders, at the large table at which her and Jiraiya and, occasionally, the children ate and played at. It was early, the morning sun just barely peeking over the top of the lush hill out the window, light rays shining and distorted through the nearby woods, casting long and ominous shadows. Tsunade still wore her robe, a cheap thing, but nonetheless finely made by one of the older girls that attended the orphanage. It was white and flowing, draping over her loosely and skimming the floor even as she sat with her legs crossed.

The large, white-haired man came through the doorway and into the kitchen, his footsteps drudging on the wooden floor. He tiredly brushed a stray lock of white hair from his exhausted face, creases showing that he'd been awaken from his slumber, and lines that were pink from where he'd placed his face on the uncomfortable pillow. He gave a small groan of irritation as he saw her expression and the almost fear-like quality in her eyes.

"What is it, Tsunade?" He asked grudgingly, not sure he wanted the hassle of whatever she wished to nag him about now, as she often enjoyed doing. Pein peered around the edge of the doorway, though it was obvious that both adults knew he was there. But they didn't mind, they never did. He brushed his orange bangs from his pale demeanor; the locks still messy and a bit overgrown from lack of cut, even after all these years of being there. It was a stark color against the pale skin, his shock of bright auburn hair, even more shocking now that he'd grown so much. He was tall now; awkwardly lean as well, through that transition phase that was often uncomfortable. Around his neck was a black necklace, claw-like stones at regular intervals, as was another piece of jewelry from his father.

Jiraiya leaned over the scraps of newspaper that Tsunade had been reading. They were slightly drenched from the rain, so common around that place. The sound of raindrops was so often that it became a soothing lullaby for even the most finicky of sleepers. It certainly had for Pein, the nightmare's that came and screamed at night, torturing him from the inside out. The only time's he'd gotten sleep the first few years was when the sound of the rain pounded down upon the roof and windowpane. He gave a roll of his eyes, giving a frustrated sigh.

"It says that Lincoln's declared a state of rebellion, Tsunade, not war." He grumbled. "And we all know that damn man doesn't know what he's doing at all. We've already seceded from the Union, of course he's gonna declare something."

"Why don't you put that _damned_ mind of yours to use! This is basically sayin' that war's gonna break out soon. It's just an excuse to send troops here to destroy us." Tsunade exclaimed with a fiery edge, the one that so influenced the decision Pein had ultimately made. And, he figured, it was time he informed the two of it. He entered the room, his presence bringing silence to the two, though their expressions were still angry.

"What do you need, Pein?" The blonde asked, her voice reverting back to the sweet one she used with him, her tone much more cautious than when used around other children. The carrot-topped teen drew a deep breath, his arms behind his back, tightly gripping onto one another as he nervously took a second of hesitation before his gaze, confident and cold, shot from one to the other before finally staying still and steady on Tsunade.

"I've made a decision, ma'am." He said politely, with a detached and distant quality to it that automatically put the two on edge.

"Child…what is it?" She asked quietly, afraid to say anything else in case it brought from her worries, the truth she knew he was going to speak.

"I'm going to enlist in the South Carolinian army." He stated simply, not a trace of doubt shadowing his strong voice, eyes narrowed and set straight on the woman that stood in front of him, that grim expression that so permanently set her face turning to one of shock, though she had known it was coming. It wasn't as if he'd only made that one comment about killing the northerners, the 'damn murderer's and corrupt politician'. And it wasn't just once that he'd been smacked for such sayings by the older blonde. Jiraiya, on the other hand, did nothing but encourage his sense of justice and patriotic loyalty. It was he whom had taught Pein to properly fire a gun, he who had praised and encouraged his marksmanship. Though secretly, the man feared what he saw in the boy's eyes whenever that shot rang out, the cold bloodlust that lay beneath the hypnotic rings, those captivating eyes that drew you in.

"W-what?! Child, don't speak that way! You can't even enlist, you're not over eighteen! You're barely fifteen!" She exclaimed in bewilderment, her hazel eyes wide as if she were gazing into the eyes of someone way beyond his time, a boy that she'd once feared, but now knew that he was just simply not in the right mind set, not by a long shot. She'd seen him for what he was at a time very much earlier, a coldhearted, singleminded adult in the body of a child. She knew his age had no impact on his current mindset and decision. And the smug expression on his face just strengthened her intelligently decided theory on the kid, the cruel smirk that crossed Pein's face as he removed a shoe, much to the two elder's bewilderment.

"The requirement is to be over eighteen, no?" He said complacently, holding up the sole of the ratty shoe for the two to see. On the bottom was, written in a white chalky substance, the number eighteen. Tsunade rolled her eyes at this taking a few steps forward, shooting a glare at Jiraiya, whom did nothing at this but look amused.

"You're a damned fool if you think that's going to work!" She shouted. Then, her head turned to Jiraiya, shooting him the evil eye. "You! Don't _you_ have anything to say about this?"

Jiraiya silently stepped forward, placing a burly hand on Pein's skinny shoulder, giving it a strong squeeze, watching the boy's unchanging expression even at this with a bit of satisfaction and approval.

"You have my best wishes, son. You have intelligence, strength, and the best-damned shot I've ever seen. You'll have no problem in the army, and I'm sure you'll rise through the ranks and save the south in no time." He said, voice teeming with pride, for he knew that it was his doing that had brought the boy to such a skilled marksmen and fighter. It was enough of a reward itself to see his boy grown like this from the small, scared boy he once was. And it was well worth the shocked and furious look he received from Tsunade.

"What? You're just going to let him get away with this…this foolishness? No, I won't allow it!" She snapped in her stubborn voice, arms folded across her large chest. Pein was unfazed by this, and just gave her a steady and cold look with those dead eyes of his, in the blonde's opinion. It was as if he'd been robbed from life the day that the event that was still so blurry on the details to her had occurred.

"I refuse to take orders from you, I'm leaving today. Now, in fact. I'll be glad to be out of this place." He stated cruelly, walking towards the door before turning back towards Jiraiya.

"Jiraiya, thank you for everything. You've been like a father to me these last few years. I cannot express my gratitude enough." He stated in his same clear, toneless voice. The young male then headed towards the door, opening the door and looking back coldly, as if daring Tsunade to stop him. She just stared at him, as if daring him to leave. They stayed locked in these gazes before finally Pein broke his and left. He shut the door and went off into the wilderness outside, to start his new life as a Confederate officer.


	5. A Little Girl

_Swing low, sweet chariot…_

"Coming forth to carry me home!" The child's voice sung out, off-key and high-pitched. "Swing _low_, sweet chariot…" 

"Hey child, what do you think you're doing?" The young girl turned, her lacy bonnet covering her face so that she couldn't see well. The lacy white material cast a crescent of shadow across her eyes. But she didn't need to see to know that voice, even at her young age. It was Mr. Barison again, the old man who lived up the street from her. The other kids all called him funny names, like _scary_son. But she wouldn't do that, it was disrespectful, her mother had taught her so. And her mother was always right; it was silly to think otherwise. Grown-ups couldn't be wrong. Mr. Barison was an _upholding _citizen, a good _taxpayer _and former _yeoman. _The little girl listened to these with spellbound ears, lapping up each word her mother said.

"I'm singing, Mister Barison." She said with a little giggle that disappeared the instant she lifted her bonnet to see his disapproving glare. Her little hands clutched tighter the little hand-woven basket she was holding, full of fresh fruits and vegetables from the market.

"I recognize ya now! You that rich man's daughter ain't ya? Konan." He said as if it just suddenly came into his memory. Which it probably did, because that's what happened to old people. They forgot a lot and misplaced stuff. Konan's mom had told her so, as she laughed over the little girl's father as he tried to remember where he'd placed his favorite worn, brown jacket. The one her mom had tried to throw out on many occasions as she scorned the many torn holes in the overcoat. The old man's thin lips twisted into an odd sort of smile that exposed just a tad too many teeth to be comfortable. "You got them pretty blue eyes and hair, just like yer mother."

"Yep!" Konan responded happily, feeling as if she had just gotten the best compliment ever to be compared like that to her mother with such kind words.

"Well then don't be smearing her good image like that. You're mama's a good woman and all, child, but don't she teach ya anything?" He asked exasperatedly. Upon seeing her look of confusion, he rolled his eyes, black as the feather of those birds that she saw sometimes circling the gross dead animals she saw while out playing sometimes. It was a sight that made her quite sad, just like these eyes did. It brought a small shudder to her as that disgusting image came back whenever he looked her in the eyes that way. "That there's a _slave song_."

His tone of voice might have been lecturing, but this brought a brilliant smile to Konan's face as she let out a giggle. A _slave song_, she thought, how pretty. _All_ the songs the black people she saw singing were. Brows furrowing, the grey-haired man gave her a harsh look that sent prickles up her spine.

"You think that it's funny? Those song's are for _niggers_, child, and a fortunate white girl like yourself shouldn't be singing them." He lectured sternly. Konan's smile quickly turned to a small frown. She'd once made the mistake once of calling the nice black men that helped her neighbors out 'niggers'. Not to their faces, of course, but casually in conversation, after overhearing two curious sounding men out in the town talking. It was so funny to listen to, though, because they talked like little babies with their slurred speech. The little girl's mom had punished her for that one. It was a _bad word_, her mom had told her after giving her a stern slap on the wrist.

"Mr. Barison, you shouldn't say that word. It's _bad_. Slaves are people, just like you and me." She piped up in a chastising tone, copying the words her mother had told her. And her mother knew best, and was always right. How could she not be? It was stupid (another _bad word_ according to her mother) to think that she was wrong.

"Them nigger's aren't people at all. Not as good as the white man, anyways." The man said with a loud and obnoxious snort. Konan didn't like talking to him, not like she loved chatting to her other neighbors. It was a mean thing to think, she knew, and very, _very_ disrespectful, but it was true. Besides, lying was _bad. _She wasn't a _liar_. And she really couldn't find a way to respond to this. All the little blue-haired girl wanted to do was get away now, and go home like she was supposed to.

"I have to go now, Mr. Barison. My mama wants this food so she can cook a nice dinner for us. She told me to hurry up home." Konan said to the man. "But it was nice talking to you." A lie, she knew guiltily, but her mama had told her that lies were _acceptable _sometimes to keep from hurting someone's feelings. And Konan didn't want to make anyone sad or angry. The old man gave a small grunt and started off back into his house, a big place made of pretty logs. Her house was made of bricks of all kinds of crumbly red and…_crimson_, that's what her teacher had told her that color was called. Konan liked to draw, but she liked to do something else with paper even more. Her mama had taught her origami, such a beautiful word for the amazing art. She'd taught Konan how to fold the paper to make pretty shapes, like flowers and animals. Right now, the blue-haired girl wore a white paper flower in her hair, one she made all by herself. A small, laced blue dress was draped over her slight figure, matching her bonnet perfectly.

As she skipped down the dark road, and into the dimming light, her blue dress billowed in the breeze. Konan had to hold onto her bonnet to keep it from flying off as a scary feeling filled her. Like something _bad _was going to happen. She opened her tiny mouth and finally warbled out in a soft and scared voice.

Swing low, sweet chariot… 


End file.
